


Three, Thrice

by linzackles



Series: That's it? That's it. [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Rio confronts Beth about shooting him, post 2x13, the gold gun is in play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 01:50:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linzackles/pseuds/linzackles
Summary: “You ok?” he grins with a little snort-laugh. “You look like you seen a ghost.”





	Three, Thrice

**Author's Note:**

> I don't claim 2x13. At all at all. In fact I prefer pretending those last few minutes never happened. But sometimes I can't help thinking about it and about what 301 will look like, and this is what came to mind. I figured I may as well post in case anyone else was interested 😩
> 
> P.S. This is the new series where my drabbles will live!

“Kenny, out of the way!” Annie orders.

Beth represses an eye roll as her poor son moves out of the frame.

She hadn’t wanted a party – she’s 44, not 50 (and she wouldn’t exactly want to celebrate 50, either) and never has a party regardless, but Ruby and Annie had insisted. She doesn’t blame them for trying to find a way to lift her spirits, if only for a day, but it isn’t this. It was never going to be this.

A celebration of another year of life when she’s taken someone else’s feels grotesque.

Kenny moves away and she tries not to see the face of the little boy whose father she’d shot. Not just once, not twice.

“On 1,” Annie calls out, preparing to hit record.

Drawing a steely breath, Beth pastes a smile on her face.

“3, 2, 1!”

And she blows out the candles then manufactures a giggle as everyone applauds and shouts out happy birthday. Ruby passes the cake knife and Beth cuts the first slice before her best friend thankfully takes over, beginning to serve the parents forming a queue.

Some of them are from book club, some from the kids’ schools, some from the neighbourhood. Other than for posterity, Annie had taken the video for Dean’s mother, who hadn’t been able to make it. Beth’s glad. She wishes nobody had been able to make it.

“Hey,” Annie says suddenly, sympathy in the corner of her eyes. “You ok?”

Beth nods jerkily. “It’s just a lot.”

Tears threaten to erupt, not helped by the way her sister’s looking at her.

She presses at her arm. “Listen, why don’t you sneak away for a minute? Nobody’d notice, they’re all falling face forward into red velvet.” Her eyes widen at an idea: “You can open me and Ruby’s gift! It’s on your bed.”

Beth has never wanted to hug her sister more.

She squeezes at her hand on her arm and Annie smiles supportively before Beth heads into the house, making a beeline for her bedroom. The curtains are drawn, which she doesn’t remember doing, but she supposes her sister could’ve. The gift is indeed sat upon her duvet cover, in a brilliant blue box, and Beth closes the door behind her then steps forward.

She nearly trips over her own feet when the armchair in the corner turns, slowly.

And then it’s all the way facing her and Beth freezes, the blood draining from her face.

“Surpriiiise.”

It’s in the same dull mocking tone he’d used that night but this time there’s no bloodied faces, no bruised knuckles. Just him in her armchair, gold gun in his lap.

Alive. He’s alive.

“Woulda jumped outta your cake, but I’m still feelin a lil sore,” Rio says as he stands and rolls his shoulder, wincing exaggeratedly.

Her eyes take in every part of his narrow form – a little narrower than usual, maybe, his cheekbones more pronounced.

“You ok?” he grins with a little snort-laugh. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

Is she breathing? She doesn’t think she’s breathing. She parts her lips to force oxygen into her lungs and Rio motions with his head to the door; to the people outside. ( _God_ , she has visitors. God _, her family_.)

“You got a lotta people out there. You must be makin money, huh?”

She stares at him. He’s wearing an identical outfit to the one he had that night – had he done it on purpose?

Rio cocks his head.

“You ain’t gonna say hi to me?”

“H-hi,” she manages to choke out.

He bursts into laughter and it seems to shake the foundations of the house; ring around it and reverberate off the walls.

“Damn, I missed you.” It’s light, like his eyes aren’t. “You miss me?”

“What are you doing here?” she croaks, proud of her ability to form a coherent sentence.

He’s not dead. Rio’s not dead. But he’s here.

And that’s worse.

“Couldn’t miss your birthday,” he shrugs, still teasing.

“So you could kill me on it?”

“And why would I do that, huh?” he asks, cocking his head; mocking. “Just ‘cuz you _shot me and left me to die_? That’s just what partners do, right?”

And Beth blinks, sucks in a breath.

“I’m–”

“Don’t,” he growls, anger breaking through for the first time, stopping her apology. But his face smoothens out easily, instantly becoming sardonic again. “We both know you ain’t good at lying to me.”

But would it be a lie?

Not a day in the past six months has gone by without her thinking about him; not a week without her crying.

And he’d been alive. The whole time, he’d been _alive_.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t get you a gift. Was really busy, chokin on my own blood and whatnot.”

And the mental image shakes her, almost takes her back, but she refuses; sets her shoulders and jaw.

“What do you want from me?”

If he doesn’t want an apology and he doesn’t want to kill her, then what is it? Why is he here?

“Do you just want to torture me?!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he scoffs. “It’s alllll about you.”

“You made it about me that night you brought me there,” she snaps, breaking. “You kidnapped me! You put a bag over my head, you–”

But she cuts herself off, the emotion too much. It’s the first time she’s let herself talk about that night and it overwhelms her; grips at her chest with steel claws. The hurt, the confusion, the trauma.

She’d trusted him and he’d turned her into a killer.

“I didn’t want to shoot you; I didn’t want to do any of it! You forced me!”

“Oh, I see.” He steps forward, surprisingly calm. “So it’s cool to do sum’n if you feel forced into it?”

And his eyes are completely sincere for the first time, as if genuinely wanting her insight.

And for the first time she thinks not only why, but _how_ is he here right now? How hadn’t Turner killed him? What had–

But he cuts off her thought process, clapping his hands impatiently.

“C’mon, chop chop, pop quiz, what’s the answer?”

And it makes her glare and lift her chin, remembering the way he’d given her no choice. God, she’d felt so trapped.

“If that person was holding a gun to your head, yes.”

And she means it metaphorically, of course, but his eyes go hard and she immediately realises it’s the worst analogy she could’ve used.

“I didn’t hold it to your head,” he growls. “I put it in your hand. And you shot me wit’ it. Three times.”

And she wishes he wouldn’t say it because she can’t bear to hear it; can’t bear to face it, because she still has no idea how she’d done it.

The first time had been almost an accident – he’d pushed and pushed and somehow she’d bent, all the way – and the second had been out of terror at the look in his eyes as he’d come towards her but, god, the third. Temporary insanity is her only defence.

And she’d tell him so but he’d already forbid her from apologising and, besides, it sounds feeble even to her.

“Please just tell me what you want from me,” she breathes, exhausted.

She is so tired of them; so bone-achingly regretful and hurt and wanting.

And he stares at her for a long while, sending shivers up her spine.

“What did you wish for?” he asks eventually.

“ _What_?”

“On your candles, what’d you wish for?”

_No more nightmares._

No more waking up in a cold sweat after hearing three shots ring out and deafen her. After feeling her finger apply pressure to the trigger. Not once, not twice, but thrice.

After seeing the look of betrayal in his eyes as he clutched at his chest, stunned. His bullet-riddled chest, blood streaming through his fingers.

“My children's health and happiness.”

Rio smiles with just the one side of his mouth, like he knows she’s lying. Of course he does.

“Yea, that's a good thing to wish for. _Smart_.”

And there’s something about the way he says that that takes her breath away.

“Are you threatening them??”

It pushes adrenaline back into her veins, makes her remember she is not allowed to be tired, not ever.

Alive or dead, he is the sleepless nights she must bear, and do it well.

“Whatchu gonna do, _shoot me_?” He laughs, wild and cruel, and then his expression turns to stone just as fast. “If I wanted your people dead, they'd be dead, sweetheart.”

She hears them, now that the shock has mostly worn off, laughing and playing outside.

Cake is being messed everywhere, she’s sure, someone’s probably taken some inside the bounce house and empty plates will be strewn all over the garden.

“Them kids o' yours, they know their momma shot someone in cold blood?”

Her eyes meet his again, her lips parting, and he smiles in sadistic humour.

“How you doin wit' all that anyway? Seem to remember you sayin sum’n about not being able to kill nobody.”

_I can’t hide, not from you. And I can’t kill somebody, either._

She’s shaking now and she’s not sure whether with anger or shame.

Rio smirks. “That shit ain't easy, huh?”

“No, it's _not_ ,” she glares pointedly, trying to get him to understand why she couldn't shoot Turner; couldn't kill an innocent man.

But he barely seems to care.

“You been havin nightmares?”

And she tries to hide her reaction to that, but she’s not quick enough.

“Oh, you have, huh?” Rio laughs, shoulders shaking. “Shit, I'm flattered.”

“I want you out,” she barely manages to say, and it comes out soft, too soft, almost inaudible.

“What’s that, honey?” He knits his brows. “You want me?”

Her cheeks pink, her eyes darting to his lips involuntarily, and he takes the opportunity to close the last space between them.

He’d heard what she’d really said, though, of course he had, and Beth tries to level a glare at him but suddenly he’s moving his gun up to her face.

Her entire body freezes; petrifies. 

But he uses it to push her hair out of her face, as gentle as if he were using his finger, then drifts it down her jaw and chin.

“Used to figure I could never hurt this pretty lil face,” he says, something wistful in his tone.

It makes her eyes jump to his.

“If you’re going to shoot me, just do it.”

Not in her bedroom, not with her kids right outside – but if he’s going to do it, he will, and she’d rather just get it over with.

But Rio looks disappointed, like she should’ve figured out something she hasn’t yet.

“That’s not the only way to hurt someone, Elizabeth.”

His breath is cool across her face and she searches his eyes, trying to find the answer. What is he talking about? What does he have up his sleeve?

“Tell me,” he says, voice as smooth as the gun caressing her collarbone, “wouldja do it again?”

And this time he’s the one too slow to hide it – she catches it, and finally she knows. This is the reason he’s really here. This is what he wants from her.

“Would _you_?”

What she’d done was inextricably linked to what he’d done. There was no one without the other. Thinking she’d killed him had corroded her from the inside out, but now, with him standing right in front of her, she can no longer shoulder all the blame.

His face twists, then: “Y’know, I owe you an apology.”

It makes her lose a breath.

“I lied. I did get you somethin for your birthday.”

He looks amused, like he knows she’d been expecting it to be for that night – but there’s something hard in his eyes, too.

She swallows. “Where is it?”

He takes a step back, tilting his head in a show of thinking hard about something.

“You ever buy that bread?”

_I’m out of bread anyway._

Backing up, he smirks.

“Don’t spend it all in one place, yea?”

And she’s still trying to process that when he rounds her, on his way out.

She spins to watch him, breathless, and it’s like it draws his eyes back to her.

“I’ll see you real soon, Elizabeth.”

It’s a promise and a threat, as is his smile, and then he’s gone.

Beth watches, frozen; waiting.

Then she starts counting, like she’s playing Hide and Seek with her children.

1-2-3-4-5-6…

She mouths each with her mouth, like each integer expands the space between him and her. She means to go to 500, but at 213 she can no longer hold herself back. She dashes out of her bedroom and straight into the kitchen.

Because it doesn’t make sense.

_Don’t spend it all in one place_

Why would he give her money?

Beth rips open the bread bin and the surprise nearly knocks her backward, sweeping the air from her lungs.

For a second she isn’t sure what to do – doesn’t want to touch it – but then she realises she can’t _leave it there_ and reaches for it.

The metal is ice cold; the gun lighter than it should be. Her breaths coming in spurts, Beth releases the clip.

It’s not full, but it’s not empty.

She presses its contents into her hand and it shouldn’t take her breath away, but it does.

_Don’t spend it all in one place_

Not again.

One, two, three bullets. In his chest. In her palm. 

_I’ll see you real soon, Elizabeth._


End file.
